Framed

And was there a shark? asked Pliny the Elder, or was it a false alarm?

Oh, you've been reading my blog, I said, pleased. Tell me, what did you think of my style?

Nothing but lists, said Pliny dismissively. Lists are no substitute for good writing.

But......oh, never mind. And no, there wasn't a shark. At least no one on shore could see one. Everyone was staring out to sea, the helicopter was hovering, and turning in circles, a couple of people came out of the water, the surfboarders paddled on regardless, a passerby asked me if there was a shark and I said that I didn't know. A little while later the helicopter flew off towards the south, and everyone carried on as before.

Perhaps the helicopter spotter was deceived by the shark blue sea, said Pliny, with a smile. Assuming that prescient colour was not the result of hindsight.

You're far too sharp for me Pliny, I said. By the way, how are you getting on with your Kafka story? Is it finished?

Don't ask, said Pliny, looking distressed. It was finished, but then I received a call from the editors asking for a followup to my last story.

That was good wasn't it? You had one all ready to go.

Yes, said Pliny, but they want it to be another detective story, and the protagonist has to be me.

What's wrong with that?

Not just me. Me in a toga!

Yes, but what's wrong with that?

I think you know. My story is about Kafka, a bicycle and a beetle.

Pliny, I said, in literature a tale can be altered, simply by adding a frame.